


Roses and Ashes

by Sarah_Elmira_Royster_Poe



Category: Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Ending, Death of Richard II, Gen, The pairings are not sex pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Elmira_Royster_Poe/pseuds/Sarah_Elmira_Royster_Poe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The red words, her golden hair, his white skin.</p>
<p>Roses fell on a thick carpet of white snow, while the bright sun was gleaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses and Ashes

Roses and Ashes

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Narrator: Richard II]

The cold air blew in my face, howling as it went past my ears, chilling me to the core. I moved my arms and feet, feeling the ground on which I laid, a rough feeling, rough enough to bleed, to bruise my flesh. I opened my eyes hesitantly, expecting to be blinded by a bright light or be engulfed by absolute darkness. Instead, my eyes quickly became accustomed to the dim light; lonely sun beams caressed my cheeks. Dust and ashes fell off the roof. I turned my gaze upwards, to the ceiling. I saw nothing. There was no roof, no ceiling, no wall upon my head, only a void tunnel that extended for undetermined height and depths. I was dressed in white velvet adorned with gold, embroidered emblems. My emblems.

People stood in the curves of the rock, the cavities of the cave. They stood higher than _me_ , looking down at _me_ , throwing ashes and dust on _me_. They used to throw flowers, delicate petals of red wine roses. Now, the flatterers hoped and prayed to burn me down. I stood up and raised my arms to embrace them. Embrace God, a God I never believed in and never would. I stood, pleading to the heavens with my arms raised to invite them. Invite the abuse, the lies, the shameless manipulation, the depravity. Let them attack me, oppose me, burn me.

What will they manage? Will they take my crown? My honour?

Let them! Come! Destroy a destroyed man! Corrupt a corrupted soul! Stain a stained beauty!

I want to hear your triumphant cries, your grandiose words to praise your miniscule actions.

How will you boast for your achievements, when everybody will know of your incompetence?

Who would praise the ones that killed a dead king? Who would praise the ones that shattered a broken glass?

Now, now… I will! I will not let your honourable acts, your pure motives fade into obscurity! I will not let your name, you glorious, kind gentlemen, be forgotten! The entire world will speak of your great accomplishments, of your bravery. Of your integrity!

What? Why are you frowning?

I spit on you! I discard you as the worst sinners. I can forgive deceiving, lying, killing and torturing; I can forgive.

But I cannot forgive ungratefulness. I cannot forgive the flattery. I cannot forgive treachery!

_“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside,_ _but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.”_

Admit!

 

 

[Narrator: Richard II]

I fell, my body heavily hitting the cold rocks. I did not feel pain I just marvelled at the sheer force of the grasp of death and how easily the final breath slipped away.

I died that day by the arrow of a young boy, who brought τhe heads of the slain nobles to the _righteous_ king.

I died that day at the hand of a beautiful boy, who used to lie on the sheets of my fair cousin admitting his love.

I died that day, not because I was a king or a criminal.

I died that day because I was a lover.

I died a beautiful death.

 

 

[Narrator: Henry IV]

Rage overtook me.

Who committed this awful deed?

Who gave the command to strike this fatal blow?

_I did._

I had wished of his death. I really did. I prayed and dreamt, but I could not be the executioner. I could not be the one to drain the life from his eyes. Even if it was a pitiful life. Even if they were soulless eyes, bottomless black pits. That is the reason I broke and knelt on the marble floor, and my hand touched and caressed his face.

_Oh, my lover!_

_[_ Narrator: Queen]

Tears bathed his body; long soft golden hair caressed and hid his closed eyes, covering his battered and nude corps.

No wounds should adorn his royal skin!

No dirt should stain his kingly lordship!

Oh, heavens!

By that heaven that bends above us, I implore, make my shoulders strong to bear this heavy weight of grief!

Let my pleas and moans be heard by the almighty sky! Let… No!

I have neither need of divine aid, nor of earthly compassion! Mourn, _I will_ , alone, till not a trace of my sanity remains.

 

 

_[_ Narrator: Queen]

I look at your damned eyes, your merciless gaze. How can you stand where he stood? How can you wear his golden crown? Oh, no! But wear it, with my blessings, for this piece of metal holds a terrible curse, death awaits its bearer. So wear it, let it adorn your king-worthy head, boast and laugh! Lose yourself entertaining and feeding your animal instincts in a pandemonium of raw, naked flesh, wine and blood.

Bring me a mirror! Guards!

Oh, look at my face! Oh, look at yours! Now, let the glass break and shatter into millions of pieces. Let the shards mark and cut my skin; I want with my blood to write an epitaph. _His_ epitaph!

You look surprised? Where, you ask? Here at this brick wall, now _yours_. Here! Inside the castle!

Watch. Stand back and revere! Mind neither my bloodied hands, nor my deranged eyes. Come! Come, brave man. Come, virtuous murderer! Admire your work! Your creation! For this is your work. This is your reign! This is your achievement! Defend yourself! Can you not? Oh, how unexpected!

Your face is pale… Why is that, my fair cousin? Why is that, my mighty sovereign? Stay back! Do not taint my eyes with your deplorable figure!

Ah! Here! Let me rest my body on this unwelcoming marble throne.

Open the doors! Let the sun enter this darker than black, hidden in the shadows of misery, fortress!

Open the gates!

 

 

 

[Narrator: Duke of Aumerle]

His cold, unmoving body, laid on her knees. Her right hand supporting his head and neck, which lolled back, gravity winning now that no breath escaped his once rosy lips. His two feet hung from her lap and…. Did I see his left foot rising a little? Surely I must have been mistaken, for his lifeless form could not muster the strength to move. None of the milliards of perished creatures through the ages had ever managed such a feat by their sheer strength of their will.

Her left hand was positioned in an almost questioning, imploring gesture, her palm facing the ceiling, opened, asking, pleading “What have you done?”. But she did not accuse. And somehow, that was the worst punishment - forgiveness when and where it is not deserved.  

She looked down at his serene face, her head bowed.

As it came through the open door, the sun illuminated her form, and just her form, on the golden throne. His white skin was no different than the _cold_ marble. The _bloodied_ words shone like little rubies.

The red words, her golden hair, his white skin.

Roses fell on a thick carpet of white snow, while the bright sun was gleaming.

 

 

 

[Narrator: Henry IV]

I fell on the ground. I crawled back in the shadows. I hid from the bright light that burst unforgiving, punishing, blinding from the opened gates. From my dark corner, as I was crouched on the floor, I raised my face to look at her eyes. Her face was brighter than the sun itself. There were two sunbeams, one from the opened doors, aligned with the floor, one descending from the hole in the ceiling. Her figure clutched the hated man’s body on her lap and knees. I did not know if the sun bathed her, or she was the source of the light. I wondered…

“God blessed the Queen!” I shouted. “God, bless the Queen!”

“Amen!” I cried. “Hail the Queen!”

My voice sounded hoarse and thick with agony and anger. Her gaze never flickered, as her eyes were locked with her lovers’.

Heaven descended on us that day. Angels sang to her. But to me? To me… Hell did not descend on me that day. I was not worthy of hell. I was left unattended, unnoticed, forgotten. And that was the worst punishment. My own punishment.

Her ears heard angelic melodies.

Mine ears heard silence. Not horrible screams, not pained cries. Silence.

Her eyes were laid on unprecedented beauty.

Mine eyes saw darkness. Not monsters and horrors rising. Just darkness.

 

 

[Narrator: Duke of Aumerle]

I ran and ran and ran. My soul flew and I tried to catch it. But I could not. It slipped through my hands. It flattered and tried to escape my loose, weak grip… and so be it! My fingers proved not to be a good cage. My breath was short, and my body felt heavy and boneless.  I got on my knees and watched the dark abyss unfolding under my feet. I turned my face to the sky and I watched the azure fabric stretch above me. I decided to lay on the ground. Somewhere caught between the two colours.

_“Higher than the beasts, lower than the angels, stuck in our idiot’s Eden.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Now Beta'd by the wonderful Willowscribe
> 
> The pose of the Queen holding Richard's dead body is inspired by this statue: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pietà_(Michelangelo) and here is a bigger picture http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1f/Michelangelo%27s_Pieta_5450_cropncleaned_edit.jpg


End file.
